


How Could I Forget?

by aurelie_saintjuste



Category: Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Cockpit Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kanan's Addiction To Hera's Voice, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Ryl, Ryloth Accents, Sexual Intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurelie_saintjuste/pseuds/aurelie_saintjuste
Summary: Everything on the Ghost belongs to Hera, everything is under her control.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	How Could I Forget?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459531) by [SpecSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpecSeven/pseuds/SpecSeven). 



Hera has never had trouble finding things to do to pass the time as the _Ghost_ soars through hyperspace. There were always small repairs to be done, reports and scans to complete, maintenance cycles for Chopper, and research for Fulcrum. Hera needs for her hands to be busy, she hates wasting time, and there is always something productive to be done on the long stretches across the galaxy.

Her current project in the cockpit is one that Hera is happy to expend her focus on. 

It started innocently enough - Hera was deeply invested and focused on her datapad, researching specifics for an upcoming job. The quiet hum of the _Ghost’s_ engines provided the perfect soundtrack for her studying, forcing her mind to steady on her mission.

“If you stare at that thing too long, your eyes will cross.” Kanan’s warning interrupts her focus and he drops unceremoniously into the co-pilot's seat beside hers. He holds out an offering of a bowl of fruit from their last dirtside market run, a cup of caf in his other. 

The fruit is tempting, but her desire for the caffeine wins out and she reaches for his mug, barely lifting her eyes from the datapad. “My vision is just fine, thank you,” she says loftily, though a smile plays at the corner of her mouth as he passes her the caf with a shameless eyeroll. She raises the mug to her lips before cringing, “Eugh, this is terrible.” 

“Because it’s black. Because I didn’t add in your disgusting amount of sweetener. _Because it’s mine_.” 

“Everything on this ship is mine, Kanan Jarrus, and you’d be wise to remember that.” she passes the undrinkable mug of caf back, mourning the loss of her kick of caffeine, and instead picks a slice of jogan fruit from the bowl.

“ _Everything_?” 

Hera feels the weight of his blue-green gaze on her as she pops the slice of sweet fruit in her mouth. There’s meaning in his mock-incredulous parroting of her words, but she simply shrugs and smiles, “Tell me I’m wrong.” 

“Seems unwise to go against my Captain,” he admits, picking through the bowl to find the few pieces of meiloorun he’d hidden for her at the bottom. Before he can raise it to his mouth, she plucks it from his fingers.   
  
“You’re smarter than I give you credit for, Kanan,” she grins and sinks her teeth into her favorite fruit. Somehow it tastes sweeter having been swiped from his hand. 

“High praise indeed.”   
  


Hera pushes herself out of her seat gracefully, and liberates the bowl of fruit from his hand. She can’t help but select one more slice of meiloorun before setting the bowl aside on her seat along with her abandoned datapad and slipping into his lap.

“Thank you for the snack,” she says and takes a bite of the fleshy fruit. Hera has been self-sufficient and working solo for so many years that, all joking aside, she will never be one to take his kind gestures for granted. And Kanan surprises her often with his kind (and mostly helpful) gestures - he’s so much more observant than Hera expected when he came aboard her ship, and sometimes, he truly manages to catch her off guard. 

“Sorry about _my_ disappointing caf,” he counters. Hera offers the remaining bit of fruit from between her fingers and he accepts it, but not before pressing his lips against her fingertips. 

Hera rolls her eyes, “Don’t push your luck, Kanan.” 

Kanan leans back in the seat and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He raises the fingers of his free hand to her face, his index finger tracing lightly at her full lower lip. “But look at what pushing my luck has gotten me so far,” he says softly, in a tone that cuts right through her, manifesting in a little shudder in his arms. 

Hera’s mouth closes around his tracing finger, which tastes of the sweet jogans and meilooruns. She swirls her tongue around it, and she can feel the low rumble of desire in Kanan’s chest. He pulls his finger from her mouth, trails it down her chin and neck, his hand resting gently at her throat. 

Hera adjusts herself in his lap to straddle her knees on either side of his hips, her ass sitting square on his thighs and her core close to his. Hera’s warm hands cradle Kanan’s face, her thumbs stroking gently at his cheekbones as her mouth meets his, the sweet taste of the fruit mingling with the bitterness of his caf and the unique flavor that is distinctly Kanan overwhelms her senses like a drug, and her tongue meets his to get another hit. She sighs appreciatively - they’ve kissed so much, so often, and in so many parts of the _Ghost_ , but each time feels different, unique, and like a new adventure.

Kanan’s mouth moves against hers, and Hera feels his fingers set to the task of freeing the clasps of her suddenly-stifling leather breastplate. As it falls to the floor, a wicked thought crosses her mind, and she can’t help but smile with possibility against his lips. She nips gently at his lower lip, before her mouth trails heated kisses against the corner of his mouth, dips along his sharp jaw, presses against his sideburn and settles near his ear. 

“Does pushing your luck involve fucking me in this cockpit?” Hera asks, her voice low and sultry and close to his ear and it’s one simple question that elicits a groan from deep in Kanan’s throat. 

“That depends,” he huffs, his fingers playing at the buttons of her blouse. Hera draws back slightly to take in his blue-green eyes, darkened to beautiful teal around blown out pupils. His locks squarely on hers, “Are you going to tell me exactly what you want?” 

Hera still doesn’t fully understand what it is about her voice that riles him up, and yet she wonders what will happen if she introduces some of the intonations and pronunciations of her native Ryl accent. She has spent years suppressing her homeworld accent for her own safety and it has been so long since she’s slipped into it, that sometimes the musical cadence of Ryloth feels foreign in her mouth. But an opportunity has presented itself, and Hera isn’t one to squander.

She strokes his cheek gently with one hand, her fingers slipping into his ponytail to free the tie there. Hera rests her head on his shoulder, her mouth close to his ear. She’s pleasantly surprised that it takes less concentration than she expected to sharpen her consonants and modify her intonations back into the familiar sounds of home, “Exactly what I want? Anything I want?” Hera pauses dramatically for a moment, rolling her hips against his meaningfully. 

“Anything,” Kanan practically gasps. 

She grins against his skin and rakes her teeth along the pulse point behind his ear. Kanan’s eyes close and his head lolls to one side, leaving himself completely at her mercy and granting her more access to the dark skin at the column of his throat. 

“Well,” she starts, her fingers slipping under the hem of his top. The skin of his stomach is warm and taut across hard muscle, and she traces small circles with her index finger along his abdomen. “First I want you out of this sweater, _Jedi_.” 

She helps his efforts by pushing the offending garment up his body, revealing the swath of warm brown skin she loves so much. Kanan nearly topples her from her perch on his lap with the urgency of freeing his armor and pauldron and pulling the tunic over his head and she can’t help but laugh that rich, melodic laugh she knows he loves.

“Now what?” he asks, and his voice is shaky with what Hera recognizes as crumbling resolve against her ministrations. It takes so much of her self control to keep herself composed and measured at the sight of Kanan’s pink tinged, flushing skin and dark gaze. 

“Patience,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing across his collarbones before flattening her palms against his shoulders and biceps. Her fingers trace his skin, delighting in the familiarity of each scar and mark and soft hair. Kanan’s hands rest lightly at her hips, and she trails her hands down his forearms to rest on his. She dips her mouth back down to his ear. “Do you remember Spira, love?”

  
Kanan swallows hard, a sound of agreement slips from his parted lips. 

“How could you forget?” She asks, her accent still thick and her voice low and sultry. _She_ certainly didn’t forget - the resort moon offered her what was arguably the most indulgent week of her life. “You fucked me against every surface in that resort, twice or more.” 

Hera involuntarily rolls her hips against his again at the memory and presses her mouth to his throat with such fervor it leaves behind a blossoming mark in his skin and Kanan groans again.

“But I think,” she says in that carefully measured, heavily accented and honeyed voice, “I think my favorite place of them all was that big, soft bed.” She closes her eyes, summoning her favorite memory; the huge, plush mattress, the slip of silky sheets and plump pillows, “Remember the first time I caught your hair in my fingers… you told me how much you liked when I pulled… do you remember your mouth on my thighs… and your face between my…” 

“ _Hera_ ,” he gasps, his brows drawn together in concentration. Kanan reaches a hand to stroke her cheek, swiping it softly up behind her earcone and up to gently palm her lek, pulling it over her shoulder. Hera shivers at the touch, and bites back a moan when he circles a thumb around its tapered tip, “Yes, I… I remember, but… tell me more.” 

“If you’d stop interrupting,” she shudders out a laugh again and swats his chest playfully. She licks the shell of his ear again, catching his earlobe between her teeth as her hand sinks down to start freeing his belt. 

“I was going to say, your tongue on me was the most incredible, the most divine, the most… ahh,” Hera closes her eyes at the memory of Kanan’s expert laving of her clit, his tongue slipping into her, and presses her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, her hips canting against his as she finally frees the belt and placket of his pants. Her nimble fingers trace the outline of his erection through his basics and Kanan hisses through his teeth, lifting his hips to allow her to shuck his pants down towards his knees. He catches the tip of her lek in his hot mouth, and Hera bites back a whimper. 

“That bed,” she resumes her reverie in her thick accent, “Do you remember waking up with your cock in my hands. It was so easy, so, so easy to get you off first thing in the morning in that big, beautiful bed… just… just like this,” Hera demonstrates, her hand reaching in to free him from the soft fabric of his undergarment, pushing it down along with his pants. Her long fingers curl around the velvety skin of his shaft and apply just the right amount of pressure as she gently tugs at him.

He chokes out a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cry, “It was the best wakeup call I’ve _ever_ ha-- _kriff_ , Hera!” 

Hera’s hand doesn’t stop it’s rhythmic pumping, her mouth pressing warm kisses down his neck to the hollow of his throat. She raises her bright jade eyes to take in the slack pleasure on his handsome features. 

“Do you want to come, Kanan?” Hera asks sweetly, her fist still in motion.

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice tight. 

“Not yet,” a surge of pleasure courses through her as Kanan practically whines when her hand stops. “You can take over, but I’m not done thinking about Spira yet.” 

Kanan’s fingers curl around himself, and he takes a steadying breath before resuming her cadence, passing his thumb over the weeping head of his cock. 

Hera ghosts her mouth close to his parted lips, her half-lidded eyes focused on his face. Her palms skate across his broad chest, flushed and heated with desire. “Kanan,” she breathes close to his mouth, his name feeling new and delicious in her native Ryl, “Do you remember the first time you sank that magnificent cock into me? We didn’t even make it to the bed… you took me right against the wall. Sometimes I think about that… how full I felt… how tight it was.. I… I think I’d like that now.” 

Kanan swallows hard and closes the distance between their mouths, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, his free hand cupping the base of her skull. Hera’s hands make short work of the buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders before moving her attention down to her the belt of her flight suit. She expertly kicks off her boots, before carefully lifts one knee at a time to push the orange material free from her ankles. One deft twist of her hand unhooks the clasp of her bra behind her, and she slides it down her shoulders before letting it fall with the rest of their clothes. 

Kanan’s mouth sears down her chin and neck, across her collarbones and lower, the hand at the back of her head traveling down her spine to hold her steady between her shoulder blades. Hera arches just enough to bring her breasts within reach of his warm lips, and she sucks in a sharp breath when his mouth closes around her and his tongue swirls around one dark, pebbled nipple. 

His hand never stops its rhythmic tugging at his cock, and Hera can feel his muscles tighten and tense as he struggles to keep his body in check against the onslaught of her exposed, flushed skin against his.

“Kanan,” her voice is full of want, “Kanan I want you to fuck me in the cockpit of my ship like you fucked me against that wall… and in that bed… and in the shower stall… and...” 

Kanan growls in frustration, dropping the hand from his cock and roughly shoving aside the gusset of her basics. Two fingers plunge into her and Hera cries out at the intrusion. She’s already slick, but it doesn’t stop Kanan from curling his fingers inside her, hitting the bundle of nerves that electrifies her to her very cells. 

His fingers withdraw almost as quickly as they entered, and are replaced like lightning with the hot thickness of his erection. Hera’s lips part around a moan as she sinks into his lap in the narrow confines of the co-pilot chair and Kanan’s thumb slips between them, a featherlight circling touch at her clit as he rolls his hips into hers. 

He pulls them to the edge of the seat, holding her tight, and sets a desperate pace that Hera has to adapt quickly to on his lap. She steadies herself with her fingers curled tightly against the headrest of his chair.

“K-Kanan,” she swallows hard, the overwhelming feeling of fullness and of his fingers between her legs already blurring her vision, but she’s determined to see her plot through to the end. “Every time you sit in this chair you’re going to remember this, you’re going to remember fucking me, your cock deep inside me, you’re going to remember my fingers in your hair,” and she drops the headrest to twine her fingers through the loose locks and _pulls_ and is met with a growl against her skin, “you’re going to remember my hips rolling into yours,” and they do, “and you’re going to have to use every ounce of that Jedi focus to not get distracted remembering how you made … how… ah… Kanan…” her voice has become desperate, somewhere between her measured, acquired, neutral accent and the heavy, melodic and sharp Ryl, “Kanan you’re going to make me come.” 

She buries her face in his neck again, her eyes closed tight against the pleasure threatening to spill. She’s all-consumed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside her and the quick, tight circles of his thumb at her core. Her lips sear hot, wet kisses into his skin, and her teeth sink into his shoulder as stars explode behind her closed eyelids, her body shaking with an orgasm so all-consuming it burns through her muscles, her toes curling, her fingernails digging into his scalp. 

“C-come for me, love,” she breathes hard against his shoulder, the familiar surroundings of the _Ghost_ ’s cockpit still swimming in her vision.

Kanan’s thrusting becomes erratic, and he snaps his hips into her one last time. 

“ _Hera_ ,” he practically sobs, his arms folding her flush against him. She can feel his release spill inside her, and she sinks bonelessly into his chest with a relieved laugh.

Kanan settles against the back of the seat once again, and she lays in his arms for a few long, silent minutes. The quiet in the cockpit is underscored by the low purr of the _Ghost_ ’s engines and broken only by the sounds of their breathing returning to normal. Kanan is tracing small circles in her back, and Hera feels a surge of affectionate warmth spread through her muscles as her body molds to his. She lifts her head, her lips pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his mouth. 

“It’s certainly not the bed on Spira,” she says ruefully with a small laugh, wondering if he has any remaining feelings in his legs after that. 

Kanan huffs a laugh in response, “It certainly isn’t,” he agrees, “But I would do that with you anywhere in the galaxy, Hera.” 

Hera rests her head once again on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. Kanan softly, affectionately runs a palm down her lek and Hera shivers at the intimacy of the touch, “Next time,” he says and his eyes glitter with mischief, “you can do the whole thing in Ryl, let me test my fluency.” 

“Kanan, if you have any higher brain function - especially enough to understand _Ryl_ \- with your cock inside me, I’ve done something wrong.” 

“Think of it as an opportunity to teach me,” he says with a grin.

“ _Boc’ara_ ,” she mutters.

“That’s just rude.” 

“ _Rude_ was the sad excuse for a cup of caf you tried delivering earlier,” Hera says with as much dignity as she can muster sitting topless in his lap and his cock softening inside her. 

“That was my caf, Hera.” 

“What did I say, Kanan Jarrus? Everything on this ship is mine.”

Kanan rolls his eyes, but laughs and catches her mouth in a slow, deep kiss.

“Can’t fight that logic, Captain Hera.”

**Author's Note:**

> I still haven't written Hera and Kanan's first time in a way that I really love, so instead the "first time" that Hera references is from my friend SpecSeven's fic "Paradise." You should read that, and then follow it up with "Moons of Rion" if you're visually inclined. Given that she tends to fuel most of my thirsty decisions with regards to these two idiots (which is part of why she's one of my favorite people), I wrote this fic with her permission.
> 
> I'm agent-aurelie on tumblr, let's party, Thirst Squad.


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